


in the quiet (in the dark)

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma and Grant have a late-night conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the quiet (in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it's after midnight here, but it is NOT YET midnight on the west coast, which means it's still technically Mother's Day in America. I AM VICTORIOUS.
> 
> I am also behind on comment replies, so sorry! Hopefully I'll handle that tomorrow.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

Jemma wakes to gentle fingers tracing patterns over the curve of her hip.

“Mm.” She’s warm and comfortable, her limbs heavy from sleep, and reluctant to move and disturb her own peace. As such, she contents herself with turning her head to nuzzle against Grant rather than rolling to face him. “You’re home.”

“Safe and sound,” he agrees, and pressed flush against her back as he is, his voice rumbles through her. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s all right,” she says—though it isn’t, really. It’s not unusual for his assignments to run long, but the wait for him to return from this one was nearly unbearable. “Are you hurt?”

“Nope.” His fingers run down her hip and along the outside of her thigh to brush tenderly over the bruise just above her knee. “You are, though. What happened?”

That _nope_ was a bit too quick, by Jemma’s estimation, and she makes a mental note to do a thorough examination of his person at some point in the near future. He’s almost certain to be hiding some manner of injury.

However, he’s not likely to allow it until he’s been reassured of the complete banality of her own very minor hurt.

“I walked into a table,” she admits, a touch sheepishly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Grant makes a sympathetic sound, but his tone is just shy of suspicious when he says, “Weird height for a table.”

The words aren’t precisely an accusation—more an invitation, an offer to change her story before he starts poking at it. She only has herself to blame for that (he’s never really forgiven her for misleading him about the minor hostage situation she got caught in two years ago) and, as always, it amuses her that _this_ is the one place where their trust in one another fails: the only time they would even think of lying is in regards to injury.

She’s not lying this time, but in an odd way, she appreciates the doubt: it makes for a good a segue as any.

“It was, as it happens.” She twists onto her other side, wanting to face him for this. “It was one of the tables that hold magazines at the doctor’s office.”

Surprise flickers across his face, not unexpectedly; the infirmary here at the Hub offers no such conveniences as magazines, and he’s obviously (correctly) deduced that her visit was to a _civilian_ doctor.

SHIELD has a very extensive internal healthcare system. There aren’t many reasons she would venture outside of it.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, searching her face. “Are you…sick?”

He’s using that deliberately calm tone which signals that he’s not feeling very calm at all. Still, though she sincerely regrets worrying him, she’s incapable of holding back a smile. Not even the stark fear in Grant’s eyes can dim it.

She’s spent countless hours since receiving her test results considering the best way to impart her news, drawing up and discarding plan after plan, and though it frustrated her endlessly, she’s suddenly very glad of her failure to make a decision. Now that the moment’s arrived, it’s obvious that this is the perfect setting: curled in bed together, pressed chest to chest and knee to knee, heads resting on the same pillow.

Here in the cool, quiet dark of their room—their private sanctuary, the one spot of shared calm in their respective chaotic lives—is the perfect place to take his hand in hers and lay it over her still-flat stomach.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers, the words even now simultaneously thrilling and terrifying her, and Grant goes completely still. She believes he might have stopped breathing.

“You’re—”

“Pregnant,” she repeats. He needs a moment to absorb the news, of course—she herself spent a good twelve minutes with her head in her hands, trying to steady her breathing, when the doctor confirmed her suspicions—and out of respect for the shock he’s just received, she does her best to contain her excitement. (Unfortunately, in this one, single instance, her best is…not very good.) “About thirteen weeks along.”

“Pregnant,” Grant says quietly, in a completely unfathomable tone. “Really?”

“Really.”

His fingers flex once on her stomach, and then he’s kissing her—somewhat. It’s made a bit difficult by the fact that he’s smiling against her lips and she can’t stop beaming and even, as her excitement surges once more, giggling a bit.

They’re going to be _parents_. They’re going to have a child, a whole new person made from both of them—perhaps with Grant’s smile, perhaps with Jemma’s height, perhaps perhaps perhaps. She’s been obsessing over this just as much as how to tell him: who and what their child will be, what it will be _like_ to have a baby, to raise and love a child together—

She’s never been given to non-intellectual flights of fancy, really, but in the past week she hasn’t been able to _stop_.

“You’re happy?” she checks, though it seems unnecessary, in light of the way he’s grinning—boyish and excited in a way she’s never seen him.

“ _Ecstatic_ ,” he says, with great emphasis. He leans in to kiss her again—a bit more successfully, this time—and then moves down the bed to kiss her stomach, as well. Her heart fairly melts right out of her chest, at that. “Thirteen weeks, you said?”

“Thereabouts, yes.” Jemma stretches leisurely and rolls onto her back, feeling an odd and contradictory mix of restless and settled. She wants to sleep for a year, but also to get up and—and run or dance or _something_. “According to my research, I should start showing soon.”

Grant kisses her stomach again, followed by the bruise on her thigh, and then her stomach once more, for good measure, before returning to her side. He keeps one careful hand on her middle as he settles in next to her.

“Why’d you go to a civilian?” he asks.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” she says, and rolls her eyes when he frowns in undoubtedly feigned confusion. “Don’t play dumb—it doesn’t suit you. As though we both don’t know your fellow specialists report my every even vaguely unusual move to you whenever you’re away.”

He smiles sheepishly. “To be fair, I do the same thing for them.”

“Yes,” she acknowledges, “and I suppose we who are foolish enough to marry spies really bring it upon ourselves.” She covers the hand on her stomach with her own, lacing their fingers. “In any case, I knew that if I visited one of SHIELD’s obstetricians, you’d hear within the hour. Joining the weekly trip into town, however, was nothing remarkable.”

“Very clever,” he says, a slight chuckle in his voice. “But you’re not gonna…”

“Leave the life of our child in the hands of unvetted doctors?” she asks, as he flounders. “No, love. Now that you know, I’ll report my pregnancy to SHIELD and follow protocol to the letter. I just…wanted to see your reaction.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and pushes up on his elbow so that he might lean over and kiss her. It’s a complete success this time, slow and sweet and so tender her chest aches with it. “I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it from anyone else.”

“We’re going to be parents,” she tells him, because he needs to hear _that_ , as well. There are so many ways to phrase it, so many things to _say_ , and she’s kept herself in a constant state of terrified glee all week by voicing every single one of them aloud. “We’re going to have a baby.”

“We are,” Grant agrees, grinning boyishly again. It fades suddenly into a grimace, however, when his watch beeps the hour. “Which I’m pretty sure means you need lots of sleep.”

“Among other things,” she agrees, and presses her finger to his lips before he can apologize for waking her in the middle of the night. “But a lost hour won’t hurt me this early on. I’m glad you woke me; I’ve been dying to tell you.”

The smile he gives her now is more constrained, though no less happy. He takes her hand, pausing to kiss her wedding ring fondly, and lowers it to the bed.

“And now you’ve told me,” he says, “so you can go back to sleep.”

“Will you not be joining me?” she asks, noting with displeasure the singular _you_.

He shakes his head with clear regret as he sits up properly. “This is just a stopover; I needed to change before the debrief.”

Now that he mentions it, she realizes that he’s not dressed for bed; he’s shirtless, yes, but wearing the pocket-laden trousers that go with his tac gear rather than the sweats he usually sleeps in.

“It doesn’t appear you got very far along,” she observes, hooking a finger in one of his belt loops.

“No.” He smiles. “You’re a distraction.”

“A good one, I hope?” she asks.

“The very best,” he declares and, after one last, swift kiss, slides off the bed to stand. “Try to get some more sleep, please? I probably won’t be back ‘til tonight.”

Jemma blinks. A glance at the clock on the bedside table proves that it’s only two in the morning, and even for SHIELD, a debrief lasting longer than twelve hours is excessive.

“That must have been quite a mission,” she says, and Grant scowls.

“Rising fucking Tide,” he mutters.

It’s hardly an explanation, but she doesn’t press. Even that much is probably more than he should have said. His assignments are always highly classified, and SHIELD provides no leeway for married couples with differing clearance levels.

“I’ll get some sleep,” she promises instead. “Try to find a moment for some yourself, please. We have a lot to talk about when you get home.”

His answering smile is small, but so honestly pleased it almost makes her want to cry. “Can’t wait.”


End file.
